


Here's To Us

by paranormalcy



Series: Here's To Us - Duology [1]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games), Uncharted 4 - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Injury, F/M, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7515127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranormalcy/pseuds/paranormalcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your ex asked you to help him with a job you didn’t expect to end up battered and bruised, drinking away your sorrows in a motel room together. You definitely didn’t expect all your old feelings to bubble to the surface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's To Us

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to ‘Here’s To Us’ by Halestorm on repeat while I wrote this and it did carry across a little.

He pushes the motel room door open and pulls you inside, swinging you around so he can slam it shut behind you. You can feel a trickle of something wet coming down from your hairline and you groan as a sharp pain shoots through your side, clutching the ribs you're certain are broken. Sam locks the door then his hands are on your arms and your pulse is rising, "are you okay?"

You tilt your head up to look at his beaten face, the blood running from his nose, his split lip, the bruising around his eye. You wince, "I'm fine, you're not," you twist your arms in his grip and grab his wrists, trying to lead him to the bed, if you can get him to sit down then you can check his injuries. He's stubborn, he's always been stubborn; he won't move and you're not strong enough to make him especially when you feel like you've just been hit by a truck, you grunt in frustration and tug on his arms then sigh in defeat when he doesn't relent, "Sam," you say, trying not to sound as annoyed as you feel, "come on, let me clean up your face."

"Let me clean up yours," he says, touching the wet on your head and showing you the red on his fingers; you're bleeding, "are you concussed?"

You shake your head and it hurts a little, "no, I'm okay."

"Did you pass out?" he asks, "I didn't see-"

"No," you assure him, "no, I promise, I didn't lose consciousness, I just need painkillers. Maybe sleep it off."

He nods but the worry that's in his eyes doesn't go away, "alright," his fingers brush your cheek, "but you probably shouldn't mix painkillers and alcohol."

Your brow creases, "we don't have-"

His eyes dart to the fridge he'd stocked with beer earlier, said it was for when the two of you found the treasure then you could celebrate properly, his eyes meet yours again, "lets just get drunk and pass out, worry about our injuries in the morning, we won't feel them if we're drunk." 

A pain shoots through your ribs again and you suck in a sharp breath, tugging your arm away from him to clutch at it, you whimper out an "ow."

"You sure you're okay?" he asks again, trying to help you to the bed so you can sit. 

You shake your head and try to get away from him, "I'm fine," you insist, you don't want him to touch you. You don't want to end up on the bed with him. Working with the ex you were still hot for was never going to be a good idea but Christ, it'd been a while since anyone had touched you and if he took off your top to check your ribs you knew your pants would soon follow, you didn't have the self control for this right now. In the morning, maybe. But not right now.

"Lets just get the beer," you tell him, "get drunk like you said. I'm fine, I promise," it's a lie and you're pretty sure he can tell but he goes and retrieves the beer while you collapse against the wall, too tired to take another step. You slide down and land on the carpeted floor; it was well worn, had some weird looking stains, and the garish pattern made you believe it hadn't been replaced since the 80s. You hated it. 

Sam smiles at you over his shoulder, watching as you stare at the hideous carpet pattern like if you will it hard enough it'll change into something less offensive to your eyes, "you're so not okay."

"You're so annoying," you mumble as you look up at him, your fingers massaging your temples trying to get rid of the throbbing headache behind your eyes. 

Sam starts to walk back over to you, turning the first beer upside down to pry the lid off the second, then brings the edge of the first one's cap down on the opening of the second bottle to send the cap flying into the air, "yeah, but at least I look good," he grins.

Okay, so you can't deny that, though maybe you're not the most reliable narrator right now, head injury and all, "you're all tricks," you tell him, taking the beer as he offers you it.

"Mm," he smiles, "maybe," he sits down beside you, his shoulder touching yours. You want to move away. You debate it. But it'd seem rude, wouldn't it? And sudden. He's still your friend. You should be able to sit next to each other. "Let me look at your head," he mumbles, turning your face towards him with a finger hooked under your chin.

You sigh and your shoulders slump as you're forced to look into his worried eyes, one is slowly swelling shut and you wince. "Your eye okay?" you ask quietly.

He nods, "I've had worse."

"Sam," you sigh, he shushes you and brushes your hair away from the wound.

"Doesn't look deep," he comments, "that's good, do you feel dizzy?"

You shake your head, "have a headache."

"You're gonna have a worse one tomorrow," he smiles, sitting back, he retrieves his beer and reaches it out to you, you look at it, then at him, wondering what you're supposed to do with it, "here's... to us," he says, "surviving getting our asses kicked." Your lips twitch up and you tap your bottle against his. He nods and takes a swig, immediately screwing up his face, "it's warm."

You grin, "good, you deserve it."

"I deserve worse," he mumbles.

"Why?" you take a drink from your own beer. He was right about it being warm.

"I got you hurt," he says like it should be obvious. "It's my fault you're here, I dragged you into this mess. Now you've got broken ribs."

"I make my own decisions," you tell him, "you didn't kidnap me, Sam, I chose to come with you."

He sighs, "still got you hurt."

"I got _myself_ hurt," you insist.

You're both quiet for a few minutes, all you can hear is the sound of your breathing and drinking along with the banged up old air conditioner that sounds like it's going to give out any moment. Sam clears his throat, "do you... is there any chance you still..."

You look over at him, "still what?"

"Love... me?"

You feel your stomach flip and there's something in his eyes, some spark that makes your heart start beating faster. "How drunk are you right now?" you ask, trying to avoid the question.

"Barely even buzzed," he tells you. "I'd need a lot more before I'd be drunk enough to confess my love to someone. Then again," he sighs, "I have lost some blood, so maybe not. Why, are you drunk?" he reaches over to check how much you've drunk out of the bottle. "You've only drunk two thirds of the bottle-"

"I'm not drunk," you tell him. "Not enough anyway..." you run your hand over your face, and putting pressure on most of it hurts like you're being beaten all over again, "not enough to feel _that_ again."

"Feel what, Y/N?" he asks.

And you can already feel it bubbling in your chest, like a tar pit that wants to consume your heart, your soul. You swallow hard and try like hell to stop it before it gets too out of control. 

"Y/N?"

"Fuck you, Sam," you blurt, your stomach is doing flips and god - you feel like a teenager about to kiss their crush for the first time.

His brow creases in confusion, "wh-"

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. You can feel your heart being submerged, wrapped in the thick black liquid, slowly clogging the ventricles and making it impossibly hard for it to keep on beating. You abruptly break the kiss leaving him sitting there with his eyes closed and lips slightly parted, you whimper, "it hurts too much."

His eyes open and he looks at you, really looks at you, "what does? Your... your ribs? Your head? _Face_? What hurts, sweetheart?" Concern tints his voice and his fingers are brushing over your face again, checking your head wound. 

Your heart thuds and you can imagine the tar flying off with the vibration, splattering the inside of your rib cage, starting to consume your lungs, your hand moves from his face to rest over it in an attempt to stop it, you hope to Sam it looks like you're holding your injured ribs. "Loving you."

"Wait, you... you do still love me?" he asks, his eyes widening as he tries to read your expression, his hand hovering next to your cheek.

"Yes," you breathe, "I do and it's killing me. It's fucking all consuming and I can't stop it anymore."

"Then don't. Please," the hand that's hovering settles on your cheek, cupping it as his eyes turn pleading, "I love you. I've never stopped loving you. This past year without you has been one of the hardest of my life. Definitely the hardest since I got out of that fucking prison."

You reach back up and slide a hand around to the back of his neck, "don't you ever hurt me again, Samuel Drake."

"I promise you. I promise," he breathes, and leans down to close the gap between you. His breath tastes so heavily of cigarettes, beer, and blood it makes your head spin, you set your beer down on the floor and push yourself against him, trying to get closer. 

He tries to grab your hips and you manage to pull away long enough to take the nearly-empty beer bottle out of his hand and prevent it from spilling over the both of you. He grabs at you and you gasp, "Sam-" his tongue is teasing your bottom lip, he's hungry and you need to stop this before you get too into it.

You push him away, "no." When he doesn't seem to hear you, his lips crashing back into yours, you grab a handful of his hair and yank backwards, forcing him to stop, he groans, his fingers digging into your hips.

"What's wrong?" he asks, "did I hurt you?"

You're about to tell him you want to stop, that you've changed your mind but what comes out of your mouth is "take off your pants" and you don't have the energy to fight anymore.

"Good plan," he breathes, you manage to wriggle away from him while he unfastens his belt and unzips his jeans, he lifts his hips off the ground and pushes them down. "I'm not the only one losing clothes, am I?" he asks when you just sit watching.

You shake your head, "just watching the show."

"Oh," he smirks, tugging his boots and socks off so he can pull his jeans off all the way. 

You lift your shirt off first, then throw your boots across the room, your socks following, then Sam's impatient hands are on you, unfastening your belt and tugging your jeans off, he sits back and pulls his grey henley over his head. 

"I've missed that sight," you tell him, reaching out to run a hand down the center of his chest, down his stomach. You reach behind you to unfasten your bra, he takes it off you then wraps his arms around you, grabbing you ass and pulling you onto his lap.

"Sam, there's still some clothing in the way," you remind him with a breathless laugh.

"Shh," he starts kissing your neck, his hand tangles in your hair and tugs your head back so he can get better access, you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulder as your eyes flutter closed. 

"Sam," you breathe, a moan following shortly after as your hips start moving by themselves rolling against his, he moans against your skin. "Fuck me," you can feel a familiar throbbing between your legs and god - he hasn't forgotten how to make you completely melt for him.

He lays you back onto the carpet almost knocking one of the beer bottles over, he manages to save it, catching it and moving it out of the way, then his fingers hook under the sides of your panties and he slides them down your legs. You pull them up towards your chest and he lifts them clear of your feet, he drops them on the rest of your clothes. His hands grab your knees, pushing your legs open, your feet barely even have chance to get back on the ground when he's moving down, you can feel his breath against your wetness as he spreads you with his fingers, you moan and cover your eyes with your hand, he is slow and deliberate as he draws his tongue up from your core to your clit. 

You make an incoherent noise and his lips twitch up, he pulls back for a moment and you're about to complain when you feel two fingers push inside you, a groan slips past your lips as he immediately curls his fingers into your spot, he traces his tongue across your clit, light as a feather, leaving you wanting more. He licks you again, harder this time, and you squirm against his tongue, a moan slipping from your lips as you move your hand down to tangle your fingers in his hair.

His tongue moves against you in steady, firm strokes and you're completely losing your mind, he's already got you on edge and he's barely been doing this for more than a minute, he starts to increase his speed and you start to get louder in answer, you push yourself closer to him, bouncing slightly as you try to ride his fingers. He moans against you and the vibrations travel through your clit, pushing you deliciously close to your climax. "S-Sam, I-"

He thrusts his fingers up as you sink down and starts sucking your clit, you gasp, stars exploding behind your eyes as he starts licking again. "Fuck, Sam- fuck," you shudder, your orgasm washing over you, a loud moan slipping from your lips as you start twitching around his fingers. He gives you a few last strokes with his tongue, loving the noises it draws out of you, and then sits back. He slides his fingers out and holds your gaze as he licks them clean, watching how turned on you get, how dark your eyes become. 

"God, you're so beautiful," he tells you, "I'm an idiot for letting you go."

Your lips twitch up, "as much as I love hearing you say that... I'd like to hear you scream my name now."

He smirks, "oh yeah?" 

You nod, biting your lip as you sit up, "mhm."

"You gonna make me?"

You reach over and tug down the front of his briefs, "yeah, actually."

He starts to push them down, wriggle out of them, but you push him against the wall, "no time," and climb onto his lap. "I miss you," you lean in to press a desperate kiss to his lips, your tongue forcing its way into his mouth as he moans, his fingers digging into your back as he claws at you. You pull back slightly to say, "fuck, I miss you." He groans and runs the fingers from his left hand down your spine, "I need you inside me, Sam."

"Wait a second," Sam breathes, and you notice he's started patting his jeans with his other hand. You sigh and wait while he finds a condom. 

"You couldn't have done this _before_?" you ask.

"I was a little busy eating your pussy," he tells you. 

You roll your eyes, "hurry up, I'm wet _now_ not tomorrow," you pluck the condom from his fingers as he takes it from his pocket, opening it and rolling it onto him while he watches. You line him up and sink down, taking him as deep as you can. A gasp slips from your lips as he stretches you out, your head falls forward against his shoulder, your eyes closing and rolling back into your head. You've missed this. You've missed him. The way he fills you up, it's like he's made just for you, and fuck that stretch is so delicious, you _know_ you're still going be feeling it tomorrow; you always can. Your heart is beating hard as you moan into the crook of his neck, pressing your body against his, his arms wrap around you automatically, "you feel better than I remember," you force your eyes open as you sit back to look at him.

His hair is disheveled, his pupils blown, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Your eyes try to take him in, look at the hot mess you've turned him into, your breathing is hard as you lean in, your lips brushing against his. You're so fucking turned on you can't think straight. His hand moves to your hair, pulling you in for a kiss, it's mostly just tongue and teeth and it hurts the forming bruises on your face a little but you wouldn't trade it for anything. He gasps into your mouth as you start bouncing, trying to sink down a little more, take him a little deeper, god - you _need_ him deeper. He pushes his hips up to meet you, and you gasp, your nails clawing at his chest as he slides in all the way, "f-fuck, Sam-"

His hands move to your hips, gripping them firmly as he you both find the same rhythm, his head falls back against the wall and you lean down to kiss each of the birds on his neck, licking at the skin as he moans. He slides down the wall slightly and tries to angle his thrusts a little more, you whimper as he grazes your spot, his fingers dig into your hips and he thrusts up again aiming for the same place. He connects and you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders so hard you break skin. "Fuck," you pant, "fuck Sam."

He smirks, "found it."

"Oh god," you moan as he grabs your hair, pulling your head back so your neck is exposed, he starts biting and sucking, leaving marks all over your shoulder and neck, relentlessly pounding your spot as you ride him, you're sure you're going blind, everything's gone bright white and you can barely breathe. All you can do is hold on and keep screaming his name, you're pretty sure this is the end for you - and maybe it is - but god, what a way to go. 

Your orgasm is terrifyingly close and you're not sure what's going to happen when it hits, if you're even going to be able to stay conscious, if your heart will be able to take it. His hand moves between your legs and he starts stroking your clit, "come on, babygirl. Let go for me."

You shake your head frantically, "wanna come together," you tell him.

"I'm right there with you," he promises.

A wave goes over you and you feel yourself get pushed under, gasping and moaning as you're drowned in pleasure. You fall apart, completely losing yourself, and everything goes black for a second, your pulse hammering, "fuck-" Sam catches you as you slump against his chest, panting against his skin as your body tremors, a few more shallow thrusts and he groans, burying himself inside you, a string of curses and your name slipping from his lips as he climaxes, his forehead rests against the top of your head as he tries to regain his composure, "fuck, that was..." he shakes his head, laughing breathlessly, " _fuck_. Are you okay?"

You nod, groaning as you try to sit up, "yeah, I think I almost died though... and everything hurts a little bit more now." Your hands find his shoulders and you use them for leverage to push yourself up, he slips out and you collapse onto the floor next to him, knocking the beers over. You watch the alcohol soak into the carpet, stifling a laugh, "it looks better like that."

He chuckles, "this isn't what I expected to happen on this trip."

"Me either," you admit, picking up the beer bottles one by one to check if there's any left. Both are empty and you sigh, then force yourself to your feet, kicking the empty glass bottles out of your way so you can walk across the room on your shaking legs. You make it to the fridge and kneel down to open it, grabbing two new beers, then you make your way back to Sam and sit down next to him, grabbing his jeans and taking his zippo to pry the lids off the bottles, handing one to Sam who sets it down on the floor next to him.

You lean back against the wall, watching him tie a knot in the condom, he throws it and it lands in the trash, barely clearing the edge of the can. He looks at you with a lopsided grin, you roll your eyes and set your beer down to applaud him. "Well done, you put your rubbish in the trash."

He frowns, "come on, that was a good throw."

You laugh, "sure. It was spectacular." 

"Like to see you do better," he mumbles, then he looks over at you, a tired smile on his face, "how's your head?"

Your head. You'd forgotten about your headache. You laugh and he's confused, "it's better now," you tell him, "you got my mind off it," his smile broadens and you lean your head on his shoulder, "you've always been good at that."

"Yeah, I'm good at a lot of things," his lips twitch up and you roll your eyes, he reaches for his jeans, retrieving his cigarettes, "mind if I smoke?"

You shake your head, "the people who own the place might though."

"Fuck 'em, we got our asses handed to us today," he says, taking one from the packet and grabbing the zippo off the floor, he lights up and takes a drag. "Yknow, if I recall correctly you said you were gonna make me scream... and you didn't. Breaking promises already?"

Your lips twitch up, "next time."

"Does that mean there'll be a next time?" he asks, you can see him plotting behind that mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

You nod, "yeah. After a couple of hours sleep and hopefully not on this," you tap your finger on the floor. 

He grins, and you bite your lip, "you gonna actually take your pants off?"

"Hmm?" he looks down at the briefs he's still half wearing. "Oh," he puts the cigarette between his lips and starts pushing them down his legs, taking them off the rest of the way. His fingers pluck the cigarette from his mouth, blowing out the smoke, "that better?"

You nod and the two of you fall quiet again, only for a second before you remember what Sam had said earlier, you reach over with your beer, a smile on your face as you say, "here's to us."

He picks up his and, with a grin, says "here's to love," and clinks the bottle against yours, "coz I do. Love you... I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too," you breathe. The tar feels like it's finally relenting, slowly being replaced by sickeningly sweet honey. And god, it feels so much better this way.


End file.
